


messy suits you

by princesskay



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Drunk Sex, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 12:42:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21015968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesskay/pseuds/princesskay
Summary: An evening of celebrating a victory spills over into something more.





	messy suits you

**Author's Note:**

> Most of the rights to this fic go to citruslucy who came up with the general premise and even some of the dialogue that I used! Thanks for the prompt, babe! This was a fun little collaboration.

Bill had spent most of Atlanta thinking about getting back home and worrying that he wasn’t doing enough. When he was at home, he worried about Holden out in the field by himself or the bodies piling up while he was only putting in half the work as everyone else on the taskforce. Those nights watching empty bridges in the dead of night were longer because it meant hours of silence with only Holden and his thoughts of home for company, the two crucibles of his life tearing him apart; but ever since Nancy left and they’d come to the agreement that separation was the most logical option for everyone involved, he doesn’t dread the stake-outs or the lack of sleep. He doesn’t mind sitting in the car with Holden, listening to his endless chatter about the profile and the killer’s behavior until Holden wears himself out and slumps down against the seat fast asleep. 

Those months in Atlanta changed them both, and after everything that was laid bare between them, they’re both working harder and more effectively than ever. Maybe the pain and suffering was all worth it for these little victories, these little moments of satisfaction when their consulting on a case results in an arrest. 

Bill can’t help but smile as he waits for the next round of drinks in the local dive bar in Stillwater, Minnesota, watching from across the bar as Holden holds a group of local cops in his thrall. Three whiskey shots in with a half-empty mug of beer clutched in his fist, he’s flushed and drunk, tie loosened, shoulders relaxed. His elbows are braced on the table as his hands wave expressively, adding to his verbose recollection of the arrest. He looks happy, like he’s floating on cloud nine. 

“Here you go.” The bartender says, drawing Bill’s attention back to the bar. 

“Thanks.” Bill mutters, taking the two mugs of beer. 

He carries them across the bar to the corner booth where Holden is entertaining the group of detectives with an undoubtedly embellished version of their interview that had sealed the fate of the suspect. 

They’d been sitting in a car for hours, watching one of the old dumpsites when a man had emerged from the bushes with his pants down. He’d tried claiming he was taking a piss, but he’d already left fresh semen at the scene. After dragging him back the precinct, Bill and Holden had leaned on him until he cracked. Everybody has a rock, as Holden likes to say, and apparently this guy’s rock was a pair of red panties. 

“... and then, I said: we never released to the public that the victim was wearing red panties.” Holden is saying, coming to the final conclusion of the story with dramatic affect. 

The local cops hang closely around, their gazes fixed on him. 

“He fucking lost it.” Holden says, smacking a palm on the table. “He outed himself to me with that detail, and when he realized he couldn’t take it back, he broke down, confessing that he’d done all of them. I think he wanted to confess all along. He was so riddled with guilt over what he’d done. He was just waiting for us to stop him.” 

“That’s fucking amazing.” A detective says, slapping Holden on the shoulder. “You guys are incredible. We couldn’t have done it without you.” 

“Thanks.” Holden says, casting him a smile. “But, Bill and I both know that we rely on the hard work of detectives in every case we consult on.” 

“That’s right.” Bill says, shouldering his way into the group to slide one mug of beer to Holden. “I propose a toast, to all you fine gentleman.” 

“Cheers to that.” Holden says, lifting his mug. 

A round of applause erupts throughout the bar as they all drink. 

With the story over, some of the cops scatter to retrieve another drink, or to mingle with the ladies seated at the bar. 

Bill slides into the booth beside Holden, and regards him with a faint smile. 

“Today’s a good day.” He says. 

“Yes, it is.” Holden says, his mouth wobbling with a half-drunk smile. 

“We don’t get enough of them.” Bill says, “I hope you’re eating up all this attention and praise while you can.” 

Holden scoffs, feigning a scowl. “Jealous much?” 

“I’m not jealous.” Bill says, rolling his eyes. “I don’t care who gets the credit as long as we catch the killer. But you were practically preening there a minute ago.” 

“They asked me to tell the story.” Holden says, flashing him an innocent gaze. “It wasn’t my idea.” 

Bill purses his mouth as Holden leans closer to him, his shoulder bumping Bill’s, probably by accident. He shakes his head as he reaches into his pocket for his cigarettes, and tugs one free with his teeth. He lights up, and drags the cigarette from his mouth, blowing smoke in the other direction while keeping his gaze on Holden. 

Holden peers back at him through his eyelashes, his hazy eyes going in and out of focus on the smoke drifting from Bill’s mouth. 

A low chuckle slips from his throat as their gazes hold. 

“What?” He murmurs, blushing though Bill isn’t saying anything. 

“Nothing.” Bill says, shrugging. “What?”

“I don’t know. You’re looking at me like what you want to say something.” Holden says, his shoulder leaning harder into Bill’s. 

Bill puffs on his cigarette, and glances away. He clears his throat. “ It’s just good to see you like this, that’s all. Happy.” 

“I feel good.” Holden says, his brow creasing in failing concentration as he nods aimlessly. “Maybe I’m just drunk.” 

“You think?” Bill asks, forcing a chuckle. 

The weight of Holden’s body slides from his shoulder as Holden leans against the table to drag his beer mug to him. A mixed sense of relief and longing washes over Bill as his shoulder tingles where Holden had touched him. 

He thinks about sliding his arm over the back of the booth, slowly letting it curl around Holden’s shoulders. They’re partners, enjoying a success. They’re allowed physical contact every once in awhile, right? No harm in that. But maybe that’s just the alcohol talking. He quickly dismisses the idea as it forms. 

Bill takes a hard drag off his cigarette, letting the smoke burn his lungs and jolt him back to reality. He peeks a glance at Holden through the cloud of smoke drifting from his mouth, trying not to stare as Holden swipes his knuckles across the foam hanging off his lower lip. 

It’s a little strange but pleasantly surprising for Bill to see him like this, all unraveled by alcohol and giddy with joy. Christ, it’s been ages since they felt like this coming off a case, as if Atlanta had soured every good thing about the work they do. It feels like the scales are slowly tipping back in the other direction, the world righting itself. 

Holden’s tie is loose around his neck, his top button undone to expose his alcohol flushed throat; but his hair is still neatly combed and Bill thinks the world would look even more right if he could completely drop the boyscout act for one minute. 

Before he can stop himself, he reaches over to tousle Holden’s hair, sinking his fingers in just deep enough to disrupt the styling gel still clinging to the strands since this morning. 

“What are you doing?” Holden protests, ducking away from Bill’s hand. “You’re messing my hair up.” 

“Yeah. Messy suits you.” Bill says, defiantly, trying to explain the sudden urge to himself as much as Holden. Christ, as if tousling Holden’s perfectly combed hair was any better than the arm-over-the-shoulder maneuver he’d talked himself out of. Maybe he’s more drunk than he realized. 

Holden fusses at his disheveled hair for a moment before giving up. 

“You think so?” He asks, his fingers lingering against his nape. 

Bill watches a slow blush wind up his throat and cheeks, entirely unrelated to the beer. He shifts back against the booth seat, drawing in a deep breath against the quiver writhing beneath his breastbone. Something warm and bubbling brews beneath the surface, a needy feeling he can’t quite explain wrapping itself around the newly minted memory of Holden’s shoulder against his. Suddenly, Bill feels hot, and it isn’t the flush of alcohol or the cozy temperature in the bar. 

“Yeah, I do.” He mutters, and takes a sip of his beer right after so he doesn’t have to look at Holden when he admits it. 

Holden’s mouth squirms against a smile. 

They both finish their beers in comfortable silence. As Holden drains the last foamy remnants from his mug, he sinks down against the seat, a heavy sigh winding from his lips. 

“I’m exhausted.” He says, his eyelids heavy against the tug of drunkenness. 

“Well, you earned it. You did good today.” Bill says, unable to stifle the warmth expanding in his chest as he fondly regards Holden’s lax expression of relief. 

“Yeah?” Holden mumbles.

“Yeah. Really good.” 

Holden’s eyelids slip open to peek up at Bill as a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Thanks, Bill.” 

He fights a yawn, pressing a hand over his mouth as his eyelids squeeze shut against a wave of exhaustion. 

“You ready to go back to the hotel?” Bill asks. 

Holden sinks lower in the seat, his head rolling against Bill’s shoulder. He makes a quiet sound the way a child does when you’re trying to rouse them from bed. His disheveled hair is uwinding from it’s plastered down style, curling stubbornly despite the remnants of gel and combed down neatness. His forehead is nuzzling against Bill’s shoulder, the gratuitous display of affection coaxed free by alcohol and spilling passed his usual buttoned-down professionalism.

Bill glances around the bar, but no one is paying attention to them. 

“Come on.” Bill says, nudging Holden’s forehead with his shoulder. “Let’s go before I have to carry you out of here.” 

“Okay.” Holden mumbles. “Whatever you say.” 

He slowly lifts his head as Bill gets up out of the booth, and offers his hand. His eyelids blink heavily against the glaze of too many drinks, and his palm is warm and sweaty when he grips Bill’s hand. Bill tugs him out of the booth seat, and wrangles him to his feet, wrapping one arm around his waist to support his alcohol-melted limbs. 

“Maybe you should carry me.” Holden murmurs, and giggles quietly. “You’re  _ very  _ strong.” 

“You should probably keep your mouth shut before you tarnish your brand-new legacy with these local cops.” Bill says, keeping his voice low as he leads them toward the front door of the bar.

“Oh, fuck them.” Holden says, grasping Bill’s shoulder as he drags one foot in front of the other. “Fuck them all … except you, of course.” 

“Gee, thanks.” 

“Headed out so soon?” One of the detectives at the bar says as he notices them limping toward the door. 

“I think we’re good.” Bill says, “We’ve got an early flight tomorrow, and I think my partner here has had one too many already.” 

“All right. Well, you boys have a good night if we don’t see you in the morning.” 

“Thanks. It was a pleasure working with you.” Bill says, managing a smile despite Holden’s weight hanging around his shoulders. 

As they emerge out into the chilly night air, Bill glances up and down the vacant street. It’s mid-November, and the Minnesota winter is coming at them quick, sapping away the pulsing warmth building against Bill’s cheeks. His insides clench against the harsh breeze bustling down the street, the bit of warmth blooming inside him fighting back against the prickle of goosebumps. 

Holden’s heavy breaths cloud the air as they reach the edge of the curb. He tilts his head back to let the wind soothe his burning cheeks, sighing in pleasure at the invigorating chill while Bill scowls against the plunging temperature. 

The stoplight a few yards away clicks to green, but the street is vacant of traffic at the late hour.  _ It must be pushing 2:00.  _ Bill thinks. Somewhere between late night and early morning, the sky is pitch black except for a blanket of stars, an endless display that city-dwellers like himself don’t get to see everyday. The world feels big and expansive around them, as if it’s all been hollowed out save for the heat of Holden’s body bearing down against his ribs. 

Bill ducks his head against the wind as they stumble off the curb. 

Holden leans closer, his head lolling to one side. The heated puff of his breath wanders across Bill’s cheek and neck, nurturing the warmth stolen away by the cold air. It tickles just a little, but he doesn’t have the urge to pull away or try to make Holden walk the rest of the way on his own. Maybe he could have, maybe he’s playing dead in Bill’s arms, but at the moment it really doesn’t matter. Bill is liking the way Holden’s body is leaning into his, relying on him for support, keeping them both warm as they face the crisp night air. 

Securing his grip around Holden’s waist, Bill leads them out across the empty street. Holden’s feet stumble along behind him, and he’s half-dragging him up onto the sidewalk by the time they reach the other side of the asphalt. The hotel is just ahead, at the corner of the block. Bill is suddenly grateful for the brief trip, wanting not only to get out of the cold but into some privacy where no one can see how much he’s enjoying being this close to Holden. 

They make their way down the sidewalk to the hotel, and Bill carries them through the front doors into the quiet, vacant lobby. The front desk clerk barely glances up from her magazine as Bill drags Holden’s drunken limbs across the lobby to the elevator. 

Bill jabs the button to take them up, and the doors slide open almost immediately. No one else is riding the elevator this late at night, and the hotel hadn’t paid for elevator music. It’s utterly quiet except for the metallic grind of elevator cables and the hydraulic hiss of the doors sealing shut behind them. 

The elevator jolts into motion causing Holden to stagger against Bill. His arm loops tighter around Bill’s neck as he presses closer, his head coming to rest in the crook of Bill’s neck. He inhales deeply and sighs it back out, spilling hot breath down Bill’s neck and beneath his collar. 

“You better not pass out on me.” Bill says, jabbing him gently in the ribs. 

“I’m awake.” Holden says, lifting his head just far enough for Bill to glimpse his half-open eyelids. 

“Christ, you’re a mess.” 

“You’re the one who was pumping me full of whiskey shots and beer all night.” Holden says, quietly accusing though it sounds more pleased than annoyed. 

“I didn’t think you were this much of a lightweight.” 

“Four years of working together and you don’t know this about me?” Holden says, “I’m hurt, Bill.” 

“I’ll remember for next time.” 

“Why? So you can do it again more successfully?” 

Bill glances away as the doors of the elevator slide open. Jostling Holden, he leads them out of the elevator and into the hall. 

“You don’t call this successful?” He asks, pushing the tremble he feels working its way up his chest out of his voice. 

“I don’t know yet.” 

_ What does that mean?  _ Bill thinks, but quickly decides he doesn’t want to know. They’re treading a dangerous border just being this close, Holden nuzzling his neck and telling him how strong he is. He’d taken more than a few drunk dates home in his youth to know this feeling, and it’s tripping closer and closer towards something inappropriate that he’s tried hard not to think of in relation to Holden. 

Once they reach the door of Holden’s hotel room, Holden fishes in his pocket for his key. He withdraws it, and Bill takes it from his limp fingers. He unlocks the door, and kicks it open. 

“Can you make it to bed by yourself?” He asks. 

Holden’s arm unwinds from his neck, and he shifts back to meet Bill’s gaze. His cheeks hold a rosy glow, and the blue of his eyes is sharp against the glistening bloodshot sheen of alcohol. 

“What?” Bill asks, as Holden’s gaze lingers on his mouth. 

“Just a second, you have …” Holden says, his fingers nudging against the corner of Bill’s mouth.

“What?” Bill presses, catching him by the wrist. 

“You had a little foam.” Holden says, his thumb pushing against Bill’s cheek, fighting the resistance of Bill’s hand around his wrist. 

Bill swallows hard as Holden leans closer. His breath is hot and tinged with the smell of beer and whiskey shots, a deadly combination of recklessness and joy. His tongue winds across his lower lip, and his nostrils flare, gathering confidence. Bill can see the intuition behind the glaze of alcohol in his eyes even as he wants to believe this moment is born out of thoughtless abandon perpetuated by one too many drinks. 

Then Holden’s mouth presses against his, all wet and warm and tasting of booze, and he loses sight of any kind of sensibility or logic. It happens quickly and all at once, Holden’s mouth lingering there just long enough for the dizzying weight and taste of the kiss to settle in before withdrawing with a slick smack of lips sliding free of another. 

Holden leans back against the doorframe, his mouth hanging slightly open as if he’s just now realized what he’s done. 

Bill blinks against the hum of need rising in his veins, pushing past the dull buzz of drink. The taste of Holden’s mouth lingers on his lips like a latent fingerprint left at a crime scene. The invisible brand of it sinks into his skin, tingling and humming, resting there with incriminating potential. 

He thinks about pulling away and running down the hall to escape what that kiss means. He thinks about telling Holden he’s drunk and stupid and careless, and he won’t mean it in the morning. He thinks about getting angry, and scaring off any idea that he reciprocates what just happened. 

But he can’t conjure a single action. 

Holden kisses him again, harder this time, intentionally. His hands are against Bill’s chest, curling around the collar of his shirt and dragging him closer. They’re halfway in the hall, and anyone could open their door and see them; but he doesn’t seem to care as his body leans into Bill’s chest, and his mouth strokes hungrily against Bill’s lips. 

Bill grasps at Holden’s waist, holding onto the sensation of Holden’s drunk, sloppy mouth and the eager rush of his breath before he gently breaks them apart. 

Holden gasps softly against his mouth as the kiss ends. 

“Holden.” Bill whispers, saying his name as if that will reorient them to reality when it just pulls him deeper into the needy pulse gaining tempo in his veins. “What are we doing?” 

“I’m kissing you.” Holden murmurs. “Don’t you like it?” 

“Yes, but-”

“Then shut up and kiss me back.” 

Bill swallows against a protest riding up against the back of his throat. Maybe if he weren’t so fucking drunk and tired he could have scraped together something more concrete than that half-assed attempt at pumping the brakes on this reckless moment; but with the pulse of need bursting to life between his legs, his foot is slipping closer towards the accelerator, swerving them into the fast lane, keen on the idea of relief at Holden’s generous, eager to please hands. 

Before he can make up his mind, Holden mutters a sound of impatience and nudges his mouth against Bill’s again. His tongue pushes clumsily against Bill’s vaguely protesting lips, and he moans quietly when Bill’s mouth softens just long enough for it to steal a taste. 

The sensation of Holden’s tongue curling against his palate lingers for a long stretch of blurred seconds before Bill has the sense to break them apart again. Clutching Holden’s cheeks, he draws back, gasping in a breath. 

“Bill, please.” Holden lurches against his grasp, body shoving so hard into Bill’s that he feels the corner of the doorframe bite into his spine. “I want you.” 

Bill closes his eyes against the wave of heat that rolls down his chest, landing hard in the pit of his stomach. Holden’s hips rock against him, and he can feel his erection; and he can’t fucking think straight, can’t even gather up the bits and pieces of the protest melting against the back of his tongue.

“Okay, calm down.” Bill says, forcing Holden back by his grip on his jaw. “Can I just shut the door first?” 

Holden blinks, as if he hadn’t quite heard the positive response in Bill’s question, but it’s just now sinking in past the alcohol daze. 

“Yes, yes.” He says, nodding. “You’re right. That’s a good idea.” 

Holden leans away from the door, and Bill wraps one arm around him while shutting the door behind them with the other. As the latch falls shut, Holden’s pawing hands are against him again, his mouth seeking out Bill’s in the semi-darkness of the room. 

Bill pushes him against the door, pinning Holden’s eagerly flailing limbs as he asserts his mouth over Holden’s sloppy kiss. Holden lets out an excited whimper, and his mouth slides open to Bill’s more dexterous caress, taking the push of Bill’s tongue with the least amount of resistance. 

Bill grasps his cheek, rubbing his thumb across the warm, flushed skin as the sensation of Holden’s wet, open mouth beneath his threatens to overwhelm him. He can feel every shuddering breath fighting past Holden’s lips, every little quiver of his mouth doing it’s best to match the fierce hunger of Bill’s kiss. Saliva smears across his mouth and chin as Bill kisses him hard, but the aching friction ignites a lively burn across Bill’s lips, a sensation he would cling onto and extend if his cock wasn’t so fucking hard and screaming for release. 

Bill breaks the kiss abruptly, and they both come away panting loudly in the silence of the room. 

Holden stares up at him, his eyes wide and glossy in the dim light of the room. The blinds are fully open, letting in a stream of pewter moonlight that illuminates the deep blue of his pupils, turning them to a beguiling indigo in the darkness. The light slants across his kissed-raw lips, hanging open in sublime excitement and need. 

Bill leans back from the door, letting Holden push against him again. Their mouths collide, harder this time, coarse with a deepening hunger. He doesn’t resist as Holden’s hands plant against his chest, shoving him back towards the bed. 

The stumble together towards the sheets as the kiss devolves into a hungry, aching caress of need, slick with saliva and the taste of beer. Bill feels the back of his knees hit the mattress, and he can’t stop himself from falling back across the bedspread. Holden spills on top of him, hands and knees scrambling against the sheets to bring his mouth back in line with Bill’s. Their mouth are disconnected for mere seconds before Holden smothers him again, tongue pushing against the groan winding past Bill’s lips. 

Straddling Bill’s waist, Holden grinds his hips in quick, needy strokes against Bill’s, making certain Bill can feel the swollen lump of his erection trapped beneath layers of clothing. Bill gives a choked groan as his own need erupts hot and fierce in his belly, pushing blood swiftly south where their groins are meeting. 

Holden’s mouth lifts from his, and he gasps in a breath tangled up in a moan.

“Oh, fuck, Bill.” He mutters, his hips rocking desperately downward. “I want you to touch me.” 

Bill grasps at Holden’s lurching hips, his fingers stretching out over the swell of Holden’s backside to bring the sloppy rutting to a halt. 

“Slow down.” He whispers, his voice in tatters, panting.

“Slow down?” Holden echoes, muttering a groan. “I’m so hard. Can’t you feel that?” 

Bill presses his eyes shut as a wave of coiling heat hits him hard. Grasping Holden’s backside, he rolls them over onto their sides. Holden tumbles down against the sheets, his hands still clinging to Bill’s shirt collar. 

“Just look at me for a second.” Bill says, palming his cheek. He has to say it before he entirely loses himself in the rising tide of need. 

Holden’s eyes peer through the darkness, his eyelids heavy with need and alcohol. “What?” He asks, impatiently. 

“If you weren’t drunk right now, would you be doing this?” Bill asks. 

“Yes.” Holden says, the response bolting from his lips just as soon as Bill finishes the question. “I’ve wanted it for awhile, I just ... Can we please talk about this later?” 

Bill clings onto his hesitation a moment longer, but Holden drags him down by the collar into another kiss that ends that line of rational thinking. He gropes at the front of Holden’s trousers, finding the buckle of his belt with trembling hands. He’s moving on impulse now, ignoring the alarm in his mind muted by booze. His hands know what they want before his mind does, and his cock follows eagerly behind, pulsing against the restraint of his trousers even as he frees Holden’s erection from behind the the taut cinch of his zipper. 

Holden moans eagerly in Bill’s mouth as Bill tugs the pants down around his thighs, and slips his fingers under the elastic waistband of his underwear. His skin is soft and warm beneath Bill’s touch, his belly quivering uncontrollably as Bill delves his fingers under the final layer of fabric as shoves it out of his way. The underwear snap free of Holden’s rock-hard dick, and his mouth breaks away from Bill’s with a choked gasp of need.

“Oh God …” Holden pants, his hips curling toward the hovering warmth of Bill’s hand. “Yes, yes.” 

The desperation in Holden’s voice fractures off into a high-pitched whimper as Bill takes the hard, twitching flesh in his palm. Holden’s cock lurches against his grasp, the thick length of him pulsing with recurrent surges of need. 

Holden buries his face in Bill’s neck as a strangled moan spills longingly from his mouth. He shifts closer, rocking his hips into the steady, downward stroke of Bill’s hand. 

“Oh, fuck…” He groans, the low timber of his voice vibrating into Bill’s neck. “Oh God, Bill, that feels so good.” 

Bill presses his mouth against Holden’s temple, inhaling the scent of his hair and absorbing the sound of his moans as his fist steadily jerks up and down his cock. He can’t deny how beautiful Holden sounds whimpering and moaning for him, begging for release as if it’s the last of it he’ll ever have. He can’t deny that this little moment falls too closely to some of his most hidden thoughts, as if he’d conjured it from his own fantasies and into reality through some subliminal power. He’d tried so hard to suppress his need, but it had grown without his consent, spilling past the borders of his bones and skin, clashing with a mirror image of itself reflected in Holden’s eyes. It seems they’ve both been keeping a secret, and doing a poor job of it, too. 

Holden shudders in his embrace, letting out a whimpered sigh.

“Bill …” He murmurs, lifting his head from Bill’s neck. His eyes are glittering and needy in the dark, and though Bill doesn’t know what he’s about ask, he wants deeply to fulfill every wish spilling past his cherry pink lips. 

“Yeah?” Bill mutters, squeezing down on Holden’s cock. 

“Mm.” Holden’s brow furrows as a moan spills past the clutch of his teeth against his lower lip. “Can you … can you use your mouth?” 

Bill pauses, the beat of his heart kicking it up another panicked notch. His licks his lips, imagining the blunt pressure of Holden's squirming dick against his tongue, the fleshly taste of him invading the back of his throat. God, he’s getting harder just thinking about it even if he’d never admit it to a living soul. 

Bill’s fingers slip away from Holden’s cock, leaving it to lapse against his thigh. Grasping Holden’s knee, he urges him to roll over onto his back. Holden’s limp limbs eagerly comply, and he settles back against the sheets, tugging at his pants tangled around his knees. 

Bill strips the pants the rest of the way off, and discards them over the side of the bed. Holden gazes up at him through the dark, slowly stretching his knees apart until Bill can see his cock throbbing helplessly against his belly, his balls all taut and swollen with building release. 

Shrugging out of his jacket, he crawls between Holden’s legs and takes the base of Holden’s cock in his fist. Holden begins to moan as he guides the tip to his mouth, licking his lips and exhaling hot breath across the head just before he makes contact. 

Holden’s hand is against the back of his head as his cock goes in, slipping past saliva-wet lips and gliding down against his tongue.

“Ohh, fuck.” Holden gasps, his hips arching against the steady, wet pressure of Bill’s mouth sucking him in. 

Bill closes his eyes as the taste of Holden fills his senses, and the throbbing weight of flesh hits the back of his tongue. He braces a hand against Holden’s stomach, absorbing the quiver working its way beneath the silky soft stretch of skin. 

He draws back slowly, letting Holden’s cock slide almost entirely from his mouth before catching his lips on the rim of the swollen head. He shoots a glance up to see Holden’s head lifted from the sheets, his gaze fixed on Bill’s mouth wrapped around his cock. His mouth is frozen open in a state of shock, his brows twisted in a wince of intense pleasure. 

Bill lets his mouth slide back down again, applying pressure down the shaft. 

Holden’s head drops back against the sheets, and a strangled cry erupts from his shuddering chest. His nails dig into Bill’s nape as he arches his hips into the wet stroke. 

“Oh, fuck.” The pleasured cry shudders from his throat, half a groan, half a sweet, aching sob. 

Bill shifts hand from Holden’s belly to the inside of his thigh, pressing his legs open wider as he crawls closer. 

Holden whimpers, drawing his leg to his chest and bracing the ball of his foot against Bill’s shoulder. He bears down against Bill’s mouth as the next few moments unwind into a swift series of slick strokes, his cock hitting the back of Bill’s tongue every time. 

Bill clamps a hand around his waist as Holden’s foot pushes against his shoulder, his body going stiff with arousal. His back arches sharply, and Bill opens his eyes in the hazy moonlight to see his skin trembling and pale against the exhilarated quiver of his insides, his hips writhing against Bill’s grasp. 

He hastens the pace of his strokes, eagerly pushing Holden closer and closer towards the edge. This raw display of intense arousal is beautiful and pleasing, but he wants to see Holden come apart at the seams, the moment when the arousal becomes unbearable right before climax. He can feel Holden swelling and throbbing in his grasp, nearing those final stages, splintering under the pressure of a need so great he’s almost crying with it. 

Holden goes stiff underneath him as the moment builds, and Bill can almost hear the orgasm coming in the muted hitch of his breath, the faint whine squeezing past his clenched jaw. The hint of salt tinges the back of Bill’s tongue, a little taste of his pleasure compressed into a wet drop that precedes the storm. 

Bill doesn’t let up, mouth stroking him hard and fast, crushing him towards the edge until finally, Holden’s fingernails tear at the back of his neck, and hips begin to shudder against Bill’s grip. 

“I’m close, I’m …” He begins to pant, his voice a high-pitched, quivering octave that Bill has never heard before, but likes the sound of far too much. “Bill, I’m-” 

The raspy warning cuts off into a choked exclamation of pleasure. 

Bill draws back to stroke his fist over Holden’s cock, slick with his saliva, just as the simmering arousal comes to a boil and spills over into climax. Holden seizes under his grasp, everything going taut for a few breathless moments before his muscles let loose in long, rippling spasms of pleasure. 

Bill strokes him all the way through it, his gaze focused on Holden’s stretched open mouth and clamped eyelids, the sound of his exhilarated breaths rasping from the back of his throat. His release spills hot and slick across Bill’s knuckles, sluicing between his fingers, down his palm. He keeps on rubbing, massaging Holden’s own release into his twitching flesh until the hardness seeps away and he’s tender and sensitive in Bill’s grasp. 

“Oh God …” Holden gasps as Bill’s hand eases away from his wilting cock. He melts back against the sheets, his foot sliding limply from Bill’s shoulder. “Oh fuck, that felt so good.”

Bill shifts out from between Holden’s legs, and props himself up on his elbow to watch the pleasure sift across Holden’s face in the pale moonlight. 

Holden’s eyelids flutter open, and he gazes up at Bill with a languid smirk. “You’ve been hiding things from me.” 

Bill looks away, instinctively hiding the flush warming his cheeks though Holden can’t see his embarrassment in the darkness. 

“So have you, apparently.” Bill says, mustering an unperturbed tone. 

He tentatively glances back down at Holden when no smartass retort comes in return. 

Holden's gaze cuts through the shadows, regarding him with something not quite tender, but not quite fierce gleaming in his eyes. Bill can tell he’s thinking, analyzing despite the drink dulling his brain. 

Bill clears his throat. “I’ll be right back.” 

Holden mutters a sound of displeasure as the weight of Bill’s body leaves his side. Bill finds his way through the darkness to the nightstand where he uses a handful of tissues to wipe off his hand. He carries the box back to the bed, and does his best to clean the remnants from Holden’s belly without a light to see by. 

Holden rubs both hands over his face, and exhales a sound of gratification. As his fingers slide from his eyelids, he casts Bill a coy gaze. “Your turn?” 

Need hits Bill hard like a fist to the gut, taking his insides and twisting them into a knotted tangle of fierce desires. He can feel his cock revolting against the fabric of his trousers, threatening to break free with a hunger so deep that he can’t remember the panic he’d felt when Holden first kissed him. Whatever reservations he’d held are gone now, or rather muffled, disappearing beneath the event horizon of his need, eclipsed by something he can’t control any longer. 

Holden pulls himself up from the bedsheets, and slides out of his jacket. Cradling Bill’s cheek in his palm, he guides their mouths into another kiss. The stroke of their mouths is softer this time, fragile and quivering with anticipation sweetened by Holden’s pleasure tainting the air with the afterglow. 

Bill leans into it, hearing a strangled groan of need spilling from his mouth to Holden’s but having little control over any sound he makes, or any pulse and clutch of his body. He delves his fingers into his hair at Holden’s nape, dragging Holden’s soft, wet mouth into a harder kiss, driven by fiery need igniting and charging through his veins. 

Holden reaches across his lap to find the fastenings of his trousers, and quickly tugs the zipper open to find Bill’s cock bolting against the fabric. Holden’s fingers graze him through the thin layer of cotton, and Bill presses closer, uttering a choked gasp of need. 

Every inch of him seems to pulse with arousal as Holden slowly drags the last bit of fabric away from his cock, laying his throbbing need bare. Soft, gentle fingers graze Bill’s aching dick, ingraining sweet, torturous fire in the engorged flesh. 

“Oh, sweet Jesus.” Bill moans, tearing his mouth from Holden’s.

Pressing his forehead to Holden’s shoulder, he fights the urge to force Holden down to his knees, and shove his cock down his throat. It’s all he wants, but Holden is drunk and soft, and maybe that would be too much. He doesn’t want to hurt him; he just wants this need to ease just by a small measure, just enough for him to remember how to fucking breathe. 

Holden is making it hard, just dusting his fingertips down the thrumming length of him, pushing his thumb against the swollen, leaking tip, pressing just hard enough to make the resulting sensation hover in a daze somewhere between pain and pleasure. 

“Fuck …” Bill groans, leaning harder into Holden as his fingertips circle the head. “Please.” 

The strangled moan darts past his lips before he can consider how desperate, how fucking pathetic it sounds.  _ Please.  _ As if he’s ever begged for anything, let alone an orgasm, in his life; but this is Holden, and everything is different with him but especially this. 

“Do you want my mouth?” Holden whispers, his fist finally curling around Bill’s cock. 

Bill draws in a shaking, raspy breath, and nods into the cradle of Holden’s shoulder. “Fuck, yes.” 

Holden slides off the edge of the mattress to his knees, fulfilling Bill’s blinding desires as if he’s the sole audience inside Bill’s head. Crawling between Bill’s knees, Holden loops his fingers around the base of Bill's cock, and drags it to him. 

Bill’s fingers curl around the bedsheets, bracing himself for the wet stroke of Holden’s mouth as he leans closer. 

Hot breath washes over the inflamed, throbbing flesh, a tease just like the rest of this night. Jesus God, he’s good at this even drunk. 

“Okay.” Holden’s says, his lower lip brushing against Bill’s cock head. “But, I need you to do something for me.” 

“What?” Bill asks, impatiently.  _ Anything.  _ He thinks, but clamps his jaw shut before he can expose the true depths of his desperation. 

“I want you to tell me how good it is.” Holden says, his gaze drifting upwards to cling earnestly to Bill’s expression of abject need. “I want to hear you say it.” 

Bill’s fingertips hold a shiver as he strokes them across Holden’s cheek. 

“I think I can manage that.” He says, grimacing a smile against the pangs of need twisting through his belly at the light stroke of Holden’s hand. 

Holden licks his lips, and lowers his head. There’s a slow, heated exhale that washes over him just before Holden’s lips hit, all wet and swollen from the kiss, tongue pushing against the underside of the head where flaming, bundled nerve-endings scream with aching, engorged arousal. 

Bill’s hand slides from his cheek into his hair as the first slick stroke of Holden’s lips rolls over his cock, sending sparks of pleasure flying from head to toe. 

“Oh God …” The first moan erupts thoughtlessly, an instantaneous reaction to the sweet pleasure of Holden’s mouth taking him in.

Holden’s mouth slides over him in a few quick strokes, lathering him with saliva before easing into a slow rhythm that builds arousal into budding climax. 

“Oh, that’s good …” Bill pants, recalling Holden’s request past the haze of need swimming in his brain. “Fuck, that feels so good.” 

Holden makes a pleased sound around Bill’s cock pushing against the back of his tongue. His hand gripped at the base of Bill’s cock rises up to meet his mouth as he sucks slowly and steadily, massaging aching need into his flesh. 

Need thuds through Bill’s veins, his desperation melting into one long hum of torturous arousal that works through his veins like molten fire. Holden’s mouth is hot and slick against him, working him at the perfect pace to keep that rampant desire from spilling over too quickly into pleasure. It feels too good that he almost doesn’t want it to end, but the leaping hunger expanding in his belly from the moment Holden first kissed him tells another more desperate story. 

Bill sinks his fingers deeper into Holden’s hair, dragging him closer. 

“Fuck, Holden, that’s good. God, you’re so fucking good.”

Holden moans into his cock, pressing harder between Bill’s legs as his whispered praises seem to be driving Holden back into a frenzy of need. 

“That’s good, so good …” Bill repeats, the words now spilling past his lips like a delirious chant, tangled up between raspy moans as the need builds and builds. 

Delicious friction drags down his cock in the form of Holden’s wet, rubbed lips buttoned over the press of his teeth while his fist jerks from the root up, covering length of him in a sweet, aching caress. The need coils tighter and tighter, every stroke of Holden’s mouth pushing him towards the edge. He can see the verge of pleasure just beyond his reach, everything drawing tight in anticipation, everything trembling as the need sharpens to a nearly painful degree before release comes. 

“Fuck … you’re doing so good.” Bill rasps, gripping at Holden’s hair until he feels his knuckles go taut against his scalp. “I’m going to come so- … fuck, so hard. Holden-”

The broken, breathless stream of words shatters into a strangled cry as the climax hits him hard. Everything seizes, blanks to white behind his eyelids, explodes into glorious, spasming satisfaction. He can feel his release spilling into Holden’s mouth, but he can’t appreciate how fucking hot that is as the shudders work their way through him, spasm after spasm of pleasure so intense that he can hardly breathe or make a sound despite his mouth stretching open in a paralyzed expression of climax. Caught up in the thrill of pleasure, it seems to last a small eternity before the strength of the orgasm fades away into tender aftershocks, his cock sliding from the warmth of Holden’s mouth to shudder against the kiss of cool air. 

“Fuck …” He mutters, falling back against the sheets as a drained weakness hits him. 

Holden retrieves a handful of tissues from the discarded box to spit into and wipe his mouth. He leaves them on the floor with the other crumpled tissues, and crawls up onto the bed beside Bill. Settling down on his side, he reaches over to tentatively trace the sharp rise of Bill’s chest with his fingertips. 

Bill glances over at him, parsing his features from the shadows now that his eyes have adjusted to the dark. He can make out the pleased gleam in his eyes, maybe even imagine the lively flush on his cheeks. 

_ Where did this come from?  _ Bill thinks, but he already knows. 

“Are going to stay with me?” Holden whispers. He means tonight. 

Bill says, “Yes.” And it could mean tonight, and all the others after this one if Holden wants him to. It could mean more, but he’s too drunk and tired to be thinking beyond the next warm, satisfactory moment when Holden cuddles up against his side and mutters a sound of relief. He’s slipped away into sleep before he can truly appreciate just how good it feels. 

~

Holden wakes up the next morning with a massive hangover, his head aching against the pillow from the moment his eyes drift open against the sharp sunlight. It takes him several moments to piece together the memories from last night’s victory - the stakeout, the unsub, the interrogation, the bar, the whiskey shots and the three beers, the stumbling back to the hotel with his arms wrapped around Bill’s neck …

_ Bill.  _

Holden sits up so fast that his head nearly splits in two with the throbbing force of his hangover. Blinking past the surge of pain, he glances down to see Bill lying in the bed next to him, still sleeping soundly despite Holden’s jostling. 

They’re both still in their shirts with the sheets down around their waists, giving the illusion of decency while their naked thighs touch beneath the bedspread. Holden grasps the edge of the sheet and lifts it just enough to ensure that he’s remembering everything correctly, and the truth is right there in front of him. 

Holden drops the sheet, and scrubs both hands over his face. A sense of panic bolts past the warm satisfaction still humming in his veins and the remnants of sleep tugging his limbs back towards the warm cocoon of the sheets. 

He’d been too drunk last night to censor his desires, but what about Bill? Will he be upset when he wakes up? Will he be angry that Holden took advantage of him in some way? Things looked bright and beautiful and hopeful in his alcohol-induced stupor last night, but he’s well aware reality doesn’t always match up with fantasy - or decisions made under the influence of alcohol. 

Before Holden can consider escaping the bed so that he doesn’t have to face Bill’s reaction, Bill stirs and rolls over towards Holden. His eyelids flutter open against the daylight streaming past the curtains above them. A tiny frown tugs at his brow before melting away into a faint smile. 

“Hey.” he mutters, his voice scratchy from sleep. 

“Hey.” Holden says, the response coming out whispered, half-strangled with his rising trepidation. 

“What time is it?” 

Holden glances at the clock on the nightstand. “Seven-thirty.” 

“Good. Our flight isn’t until nine.” 

Bill’s hand slinks from underneath the sheets and stretches across the mattress towards Holden. His fingers pause just centimeters from Holden’s bare hip, extending an insinuation into the tiny, sparking space between them. 

“We’ve still got time.” He says. 

“For what?” Holden asks, his voice holding a tremor. 

“C’mere.” Bill mumbles, looping his hand around Holden’s wrist. He tugs gently, fingers curling down around his pulse just tightly enough to urge Holden across the sheets. Holden goes without protest, pleasant surprise rising up to swallow his quickly mounted dread. He sinks down against the sheets, and Bill exchanges his grasp on Holden’s wrist for his hip, bringing Holden against him with a firm jolt. 

Holden gazes up at him mutely as Bill props himself up on his elbow, and inspects Holden’s quivering expression. He wants to say something like  _ I’m sorry, I know this was a mistake,  _ or  _ I know I’m not good enough for you;  _ but Bill kisses him before those thoughts of inadequacy can drown him the way they always do. 

It’s a slow and gentle kiss, simmering with warmth in the golden morning sunlight. The breadth of Bill's palm claps his cheek, ensuring he can't turn away. He can only press his eyes shut over the hesitation, hoping Bill won't see that all his drunken bravado was a smoke screen and nothing more, that in the daylight he doesn't quite know what either of them want or expect out of last night. 

Bill’s nose nudges against his as he leans back. 

“You okay?” He whispers, stroking Holden’s cheek with his thumb. 

“Yeah.” Holden whispers, his eyes tentatively slipping open. “It’s just … you’re not mad?” 

“Mad? Why I would I be mad?” 

“I don’t know because … I-I …” 

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Bill says, squeezing Holden’s cheek as his eyes slip shut against a hitched breath. “God, you did everything right …” 

“Oh, good.” Holden says, reaching up to cradle Bill’s hand against his cheek. “I just thought you might be against it since we have to work together and-” 

“Holden, I think if the last few months have taught us something, it’s that we can work together through just about anything.” Bill says, his eyes slipping open again to grip Holden’s with a somber affirmation. 

“You don’t think this is going to affect how we work together?” Holden asks, and quickly clears his throat to cover the quiver of hopefulness in his voice. “Not to imply that this is going to keep happening, or that it has to mean something more than-”

“Holden.” 

Holden swallows hard. “What?” 

“Can you just stop talking, and enjoy the moment?” Bill asks, an amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

“Okay.” He says, pursing his lips over the myriad questions that are piling up at the back of his mind. 

Bill settles down against the sheets, and wraps his arm tighter around Holden’s waist. His mouth and nose press into the curve of Holden’s neck, breathing in deeply and exhaling a sigh of satisfaction. 

Holden presses his eyes shut. He wants to blurt out how good and weird this feels, how he hadn’t gone through yesterday’s victory thinking they were going to wake up the next morning cuddled up together in a motel far from home. He wants to say that he’d thought about it a hundred times before, but not yesterday; somehow, without his intention, it had all slipped out of him like water finally freeing itself from a fractured dam. He wants to say that he’d been undone from nearly the moment they’d met, and the vindication of yesterday’s arrest isn’t anything in comparison to the joy he’s feeling right this moment. 

But maybe those confessions are too heavy and demanding for a moment this fragile, showered in delicate morning sunlight and wrapped up in the warm tingle of his bare skin against Bill’s. Maybe this moment is just for the silence, and he can admit Bill is right this time. Right now, it doesn’t matter if being together like this could threaten things back home, or that it could disrupt their work dynamic; they’ve already lost so many of the things they care about that neither of them can forfeit the peace and satisfaction of this quiet embrace for something as cruel and harsh as reality. This senseless abandon feels good after the crushing weight of the recent months, the emotional labor they’d put in only see everything crumble away, the failures in Atlanta that seem like victories to others but that are slowly fracturing their souls with the inadequacies. 

_ Don’t we deserve this?  _ He thinks as Bill’s body curls almost instinctively against him.  _ Don’t we deserve something good?  _ And the answer comes in Bill’s muttered sound of contentment, quiet and soothing, as Holden drifts back to sleep. 

  
~the end~

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! :)
> 
> I'm [prinxcesskayy](https://prinxcesskayy.tumblr.com//) on Tumblr!


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